


A little while longer. I know you have it in you.

by WeNeedARuse



Series: When it's like this. [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Desperation, Dom Dutch, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Overstimulation, Rutting, care, sub arthur, vandermorgan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 05:26:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18462395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeNeedARuse/pseuds/WeNeedARuse
Summary: "He wants an end to this. Right now. He doesn’t even care if it’s here, while the camp is waking. He doesn’t even care if they see them. Dutch has been teasing him for two weeks. Looks. Touches. Words. He can’t take it much longer."Arthur waits.





	A little while longer. I know you have it in you.

**Author's Note:**

> *waves*
> 
> So this one actually follows directly on from It Doesn't Feel right, but again you don't really have to read them all. Just pick and choose your kinks (I pretty much believe in all the kinks for these two)! 
> 
> And joy! I have now figured out how to put this whole thing in a series (i think), so by all means, please enjoy!
> 
> Comments and kudos are my lifesblood.
> 
> I really hope you guys are still enjoying these as much as I like writing them :)
> 
> Ps. I’m sorry. I’m really bad at writing blow jobs.

He wakes up hard. He wakes up aching. He wakes up with the vestiges of a dream involving beringed fingers and a wicked smirk still floating in his head and the overwhelming desire to reach down, under the thin blanket, and take care of himself.

He almost does it.

And then he remembers.

No woman. No hand. No whore of any kind.

Arthur pushes his head hard into the pillow and groans. It’s been two weeks. He wants to kill Dutch Van Der Linde almost as much as he wants to fuck him.

“Good morning sunshine.” 

Arthur groans again. 

Footsteps enter his tent, come closer. Closer still. It must be early because there’s barely a sound from the camp.

It must be early because he feels Dutch’s hand cup him over the covers.

He wouldn’t risk being caught.

“Is this for me? I’m flattered.” Arthur pushes his hand away, lest he come right there and then like some inexperienced boy. He shoves himself up to sitting and glares.

“Right now it’s for anyone pretty enough who happens to be walking past.” He grumbles, earning a laugh that is pure, unadulterated filth. He hides his own grin. 

“I’ll warn Javier.” 

“Sure.” 

Dutch leans against the tent pole and looks down at him. 

“I got a little job for you.” Of course.

Of course.

He swings his legs off the bed, leans forward, and tries to ignore the erection still straining his pants. He looks up, expectantly.

“In Rhodes. Need you to pick up a few things. Might take a while so stay overnight.” Arthur looks up at that.

“Thought we weren’t supposed to be causing trouble there.” Dutch smiles down at him.

Arthur wants to eat him whole.

“There’s a list.” Arthur sighs. He’s not getting out of this one.

“Sure Dutch.” Dutch nods and moves to leave. Arthur watches him, breathes deep as he comes closer to the bed instead. Breathes deep and even when he leans close, tilts his head to the side, locks his eyes on his.

“And have you…?” Arthur swallows. He’s too close.

He smells of smoke and horse and cologne and Dutch.

“You know I ain’t.” 

“Good.” Arthur reaches out, out of sight, curls his fingers around the chain on Dutch’s waistcoat.

“Please Dutch.” He wants an end to this. Right now. He doesn’t even care if it’s here, while the camp is waking. He doesn’t even care if they see them. Dutch has been teasing him for two weeks. Looks. Touches. Words. He can’t take it much longer.

“I do so love it when you beg, my boy.” He wants to close his eyes but he can’t. Because Dutch, like this, is intoxicating.

“Dutch…”

“Oh come on Arthur. A little while longer. I know you have it in you.” 

“I don’t…I…”

But then he leaves.

And Arthur aches anew. 

 

* * *

 

The blood on his knuckles is still fresh when Arthur opens the door to his room in the hotel and sees the figure in the armchair. Absently he presses his hand to his mouth, sucks on a cut, and closes the door. He leans against it, takes in the tableau.

It’s enough to take the breath from any man.

Dutch’s legs are spread wide, he holds a glass of whiskey loosely in his left hand, a cigar in his right. Relaxed. 

The devil in repose.

“Come.” One word. One gesture. And Arthur goes.

He always goes.

He drops to his knees, presses the palms of his hands to Dutch’s thighs and looks up at him. Waits. 

And waits.

The cigar is smoked before another word is exchanged but Arthur knows to not rush this. Even though he wants to. Desperately. If he rushes this, if he pushes this, Dutch will leave.

And he will get nothing.

“You’re being surprisingly obedient.” Fingers stroke through his hair, even as Dutch opens his pants one handed. Reaches in to touch himself.

To show that he can.

That he’s allowed to.

“You must want something.” Arthur huffs a short laugh beneath his breath. Dutch knows.

Hell, Dutch must be able to feel the heat radiating off him.

He wets his lips and bows his head.

“Eager.” Dutch murmurs above him as Arthur pushes his hand away and takes him into his mouth. “Oh. Yes. Eager.” Arthur licks at him, suckles at him, takes him all and revels in the taste of him. 

“Easy now.” He pulls back, keeps the head of him in his mouth and looks up at Dutch. 

He taught him

Everything.

He waits.

“Slower.” Fingers are back in his hair, stroking through the strands. “I want this to last. Don’t look at me like that, Arthur. You’ll get yours.” 

He might come just from those words.

He might come from spite.

But Dutch’s hands are in his hair, stroking, soothing. Not pushing or pulling. Not forcing himself down his throat, not taking.

Giving.

Oh but when it’s like this…

He lets Arthur do all the work.

Makes him earn it.

Arthur thinks he might faint. Moans around his cock when Dutch strokes his fingers down the nape of his neck, makes him shiver at the touch. Pull back and pull away.

“That’s it. Oh.” Dutch’s voice is soft. Soft and low and gentle. Arthur closes his eyes, uses his hand to give his mouth a rest. Strokes a thumb up the trail of hair on Dutch’s stomach. 

He has to make use of his hands. Keep them occupied.

Because if he doesn’t…

He almost falters when Dutch’s hands reach his shoulders, pushing down under the collar of his shirt. Touching as much skin as he can.

Worship.

It goes both ways.

When it’s like this.

And then, he feels the tremble in his thighs. And the sure knowledge that when he feels that he knows he’s close spurs him on. He presses down, hard, takes him in the back of his throat.

Swallows.

As Dutch’s hands squeeze his throat.

As if he can feel himself inside.

When Dutch comes, Arthur almost follows. He has to shove his hand hard over himself to stop it.

Because when Dutch comes, he does with one word in his mouth.

One word.

Arthur.

It makes him want to cry.

He pulls back and goes to spit, like always, but this time Dutch is quicker and clamps a hand over Arthurs mouth. And in that moment he knows, now, the mistakes.

He’s been too soft.

He’s made him too vulnerable.

And Dutch hates that.

Arthur keeps his eyes on him as he swallows. 

“All of it.” The hand doesn’t move, fingers squeeze at his jaw. Arthur swallows again, gathers all the saliva in his mouth to chase the last of him down. “That’s it.” 

Dutch lets go.

Arthur falls to his hands.

If he doesn’t come now he thinks he’ll die.

He looks up.

He must look ruined. He must look desperate. He must look wrecked and lost on the hard wooden flooring even as Dutch looks composed again above him.

His expression changes.

“Come here.” He kneels up again, unsure as he does how he’s even managing it, and goes between Dutch’s spread legs.

Into his arms.

“Have I pushed you too far?” It might be a genuine question but Arthur is too far gone to tell. He can feel sweat drip from his hair, it’s too warm in the room.

“Please.” He sounds hoarse.

His throat is ruined.

“Please.”

Dutch runs his hands down his face, down his jaw and around his throat. Thumbs press at the hollow. 

“Please.”

Presses one knee between Arthurs.

And lets him rut. 

It doesn’t take long. It takes seconds. He comes gripping onto Dutch’s shoulders so hard he’s sure to leave bruises. He comes in his pants, sticky and awful and wonderful. He comes crying out into his mouth.

He comes with tears in his eyes.

“Come on. Up.” He vaguely hears Dutch speak, he’s too far gone. Too shaky. Too ruined. He feels hands under his arms and lets himself be pulled to standing.

“Don’t…” He finds his voice. “Don’t do this to me again.” Dutch helps him to the bed. He feels boneless, weightless. Lost.

He grips suddenly to Dutch, as if he is an anchor.

If he doesn’t hold him, he’ll just float away.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to.” He wouldn’t as well. Dutch knows his limits.

He knows.

But…

“I ruined you.” Arthur falls back on the bed and laughs.

“You did and that.” 

“You have no idea, no clue Arthur, how you look to me right now.” There’s something in Dutch’s voice. Something dark. Something reverent. The possession is there. The lust. The fire.

And something else.

Softer.

A hand touches his brow. A thumb strokes at his temple. 

“I want to do it again.” It’s a confession.

Arthur closes his eyes and asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Do what?”

“Ruin you.” 

He waits a moment, thinks it all through. If he says no then it will never be mentioned again. He knows that. He has that. 

The touch continues to soothe him.

He can breathe again now.

He laughs. And feels the tension lift.

“Okay. But give me a couple of minutes at least, Dutch.”


End file.
